A/N: Alright friends. Strap in! We're in the home stretch now. Welcome to Part 5, which today we're starting off with our dear Sveta. Thank you for sticking with this fic. One important announcement:

Update schedule change: due to the fact that I am now taking over all updating as my coauthor needs to take a step back and to give us and you readers more breathing room during Part 5, I will now be uploading chapters for this on the 2nd and 4th Sundays of each month. If other adjustments need to be made down the line, please bear with me.

PART FIVE

"The creatures outside looked from pig to man,

and from man to pig, and from pig to man again;

but already it was impossible to say which was which."

- George Orwell, Animal Farm

...the die is cast...

Svetlana | Silmarilz1701

"Jesus," Harry muttered. He threw his cards down onto the wooden table in the Officers' Club. "How the hell are you so good?"

Sveta couldn't help but laugh. She gathered the chips and dollars they'd tossed in the center of the table, pulling them towards her. The chips clinked together, reminding her of the hefty sum she'd just won. Ron sat to her right. The cigarette he'd been nursing now rested between two fingers a few inches to the side. He glared.

"I'm a good liar," she told him. "Now. Are we playing again?"

Ron scoffed. "One of these games, your luck is going to run out. Give Welsh the cards and ante up."

She did so. As Harry started shuffling, she tossed a couple American dollars into the center of the table again. Then she took a drink. The beer helped her calm the jittering excitement tingling her body. She couldn't suppress her grin. She'd won almost three hundred dollars. The men at her table were just too easy to read.

Everyone had tells. She'd watched them in their games for weeks before she'd started joining them, memorized their tics. Harry tended to keep his cards close to the table at the beginning of games, and she'd noticed he only pulled them in closer to his chest when he bluffed. Ron left his on the table too, but kept his hands over them. Whenever he bluffed, he tended to pull his hands back. Too easy.

"Is this an open game?"

They all look over to Lipton as he moved through the half-empty Officers' club. With a drink in his right hand, he hovered near Sveta. She gestured to the table. "If you've got money, Lipton, we've got space."

"Uh oh," Harry said. "She's getting cocky."

Ron just scoffed. "Svetlana was born cocky."

Lipton just broke into a smile. He moved around the table as Harry scooted closer to her. After placing his beer on the table, he pulled up a chair. "I've heard you're particularly dangerous at this game, Captain."

"Is that so, Lieutenant?" Sveta smirked. She tapped the table twice with her hand. "Deal, Harry."

"Damn, Samsonova. Settle down," he teased. But Harry wasted no more time. With a flick of his wrist he began to hand out the cards. "Five card draw, nothing wild. Ante up, boys."

"And lady," Ron added.

Sveta just rolled her eyes. "I already did. Are you trying to hustle me?"

"If I wanted your money there are other ways of taking it," he assured her. "All I'd have to do is say I found a good source of vodka.

Sveta shook her head. Taking a drink, she watched Harry place the fourth card in front of her. Her hands itched to grab them. But she waited until the last card.

Ace high, with a pair of sixes, a king, and a queen. Sveta did her best to control the jitters. Instead, she let her gaze wander to Lipton across the table. He met her eyes. Sveta forced herself to smile. She'd only seen Lipton play a few times. He was the real threat.

"Alright, Lipton make your bet," Harry said.

He nodded. Leaning back in his chair a bit, Lipton looked at his cards fanned out in his hand. Sveta watched him for a moment. His eyes seemed to fixate on one spot. Possibilities ran through her mind: maybe a pair or three of a kind? Something he was debating splitting up that he would take time to concentrate on?

"Two bucks," he said. Placing the cards flat on the table, Lipton put the dollars in the center. Then he looked at Ron. "Captain?"

Ron wasted no time in putting two in, and upping it another two. Four to her. Sveta fought the urge to look back down at her cards. She knew them. With a nod, she put four in but didn't raise it further.

"Four to me," Harry said. He put the dollars in, "and I'll raise three."

"Three, Harry?" Sveta asked. She smiled. "Don't try to compensate for the shame I've already caused you by trying to look important."

Lipton coughed, attempting to cover the laugh he'd not meant to give her comment. Harry just shook his head. They all added three to match him.

"I take offense, Svetlana," Harry drawled. He rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the small smile. "Alright. Lip?"

"I'll take three."

"Speirs?"

"Two."

"Svetlana?"

"Two."

She handed him the pair of sixes. The odds of getting a jack and a ten were small, but she had no interest in bluffing her way to success again. She could only hope to trick them with a pair of twos so many times before they'd stop playing. He handed her the replacements, and Sveta looked at them. Six and three. She kicked herself mentally; should've kept the sixes.

"Dealer takes one," he said.

After getting his own cards situated, betting started again. By the time it got around to Sveta, she decided to fold. Too much money being thrown around, and though she was fairly certain Ron was trying to bluff again, Sveta didn't want to play that game anymore. She was tired of lying.

"I'll be right back," Sveta assured them. They barely acknowledged her, and Sveta turned to the bar.

The Officers' Club had been built mostly of wood, with hanging lights crudely thrown together to service the men on short notice. Mourmelon-le-Grand lacked style, but it served its purpose. She took a deep breath. The smell of alcohol assaulted her. As she walked over to the bar, she ran a hand through her hair. She'd decided to leave it down, tired of the pain the pins caused her.

"Refill?" the sergeant behind the bar asked. He had on a white apron stained with drinks. "What was it? Beer?"

"Please," she said.

As he reached behind himself to find a cold one, the man kept talking. "You're the second woman in here today. Some blonde broad came in earlier. It's nice," he added.

Sveta frowned. Zhanna hadn't been spending much time in the O Club as far she knew; too much of her time was spent with Dick or Nixon, or Malarkey when not with the officers. The men had rallied around Zhanna in Bastogne. They saw her as some dame who needed protecting, perhaps. But Sveta knew better. Zhanna could care for herself. She knew how to protect herself from everything.

Or, almost anything. Beria hovered over both of them, and Sveta did her utmost to shield her from that. Zhanna would be a plaything for Beria. She couldn't let that happen.

"If you're speaking about Lieutenant Casmirovna, I expect you to use her proper rank, Sergeant," Sveta said.

But as the Sergeant placed the beer in front of her, a bit of the amber liquid splashing onto the grooved wooden bar, he gave a short laugh. "Nah, Captain. I know how to speak about officers. This broad was a writer. A reporter, or some such shit."

That made more sense. The reporters loved to get close to the officers. Sveta slipped him a dollar tip and moved back to the table. She found Harry laughing as Lipton and Ron both lost.

"Better luck next time," Sveta said.

Ron glared at her, but Lipton just nodded. He sighed. "Well, that hurt."

"Aw, come on, Lip. Chin up," Harry urged. He collected the cards being shoved his way. "Are we going again?"

"No." Ron stood up and yawned. "I've got work to do, as I'm sure the rest of you do."

Harry just laughed. "Relax. The Germans don't have much fight in them, last I heard."

Sveta agreed. But his words made her pause, smile slipping. The war would be coming to a close, and soon. And with the end of the war, that meant her fate hung in the balance. She hadn't asked Sink for asylum yet. She didn't know how.

The Yalta conference had ended while they'd been in Haguenau. She'd been brought up to speed, and even as she listened to Stalin's words, assuring such policies as democratization of Poland and free elections to be held by the states the Soviets had come to control, she knew he had to be lying. Stalin bled red. Sveta had no particular opinion on the matter other than dreading a return to the Motherland and Beria's waiting claws.

"You going back to the barracks, Svetlana?" Ron asked.

Sveta glanced at him, trying to reclaim the mask that had been slipping. She shook her head. "I'm going to finish this drink, thank you very much."

"Suit yourself. Welsh, Lipton." He nodded at them before leaving.

Sveta sipped at her beer. Leaning back a bit in her chair, she watched Harry shuffle and bridge the cards. Lipton mirrored her. After a moment, she sat straighter. "Enjoying the officer life, Lipton?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, smiling a bit. Lipton put his drink down. "It's definitely a change."

Harry laughed. "You did it without the pay for long enough. Easy owes you for Bastogne."

She watched him clam up. Lipton's small smile faded, and he shuffled a bit in his seat. The Battle of the Bulge had been especially hard on the man, and coming out of it with a nasty case of pneumonia hadn't helped. "You did well, Lipton," she said.

He glanced up at her and nodded. "You as well, Captain."

With a small nod, she hoped he knew how she appreciated his words. It seemed finally that coming out of Bastogne with a medal on her chest for bravery and the blood of a dozen Krauts on her hands had assured the men of her value and loyalty. She didn't need them. The Americans couldn't help her against the real enemy in her life. But Sveta found herself grateful for it anyway. She felt less alone no longer standing in silence.

"Sirs? Got a message for you."

At the sound of Luz's voice, they all turned in the direction of the door. The Sergeant moved their way, a folded piece of paper in his hands. Dick had been using Luz as a runner since they'd left Haguenau. She accepted the paper from him. "Thanks."

He offered a smile, a nod, and then disappeared again. Sveta unfolded it and read it. Dick wanted to see her and Harry at Headquarters. Something about new intel to pass around. She told the other two.

"Duty calls," Harry said. He put out the cigarette he'd been nursing. "Lip, you have a ride back?"

He nodded. "I do."

"Then we'll see you later." Harry gestured to the door. "Let's go, Captain."

Sveta rolled her eyes at his tone. But after scooping all her winnings into her small money bag, Sveta followed him out the door. The overcast sky nearly blinded her after the low light of the Officers' Club. The fresh air did her wonders, though. No more sweat and alcohol filling her nose.

They rode in the jeep mostly in silence. Sveta enjoyed the peace, the calm before the storm she hoped wouldn't break out. Overcast she enjoyed; downpours in the cold, not so much. Especially not if she was caught out of doors and in the middle of it.

Harry left the jeep at the motor pool. "Let's hope this doesn't take long. I'm fucking starving."

"You can say that again."

She could see several groups of Easy Company meandering about. Liebgott and Alley stood with a few of the replacements, tossing a baseball back and forth. Martin, Randleman, and Malarkey stood sharing cigarettes. She even noticed a few more of the MPs wandering around than usual. But it was Zhanna standing near Dick and Nixon out front of HQ that made her pause. The woman still looked so cold. Sveta frowned.

Nixon seemed to be enjoying a cigarette. She supposed the oddly warm, though still chilly, day was what had brought everyone out of doors. Catching sight of them, Nixon nodded in greeting and stood off the half wall he'd been leaning against.

"There they are," Nixon said. He raised his voice a bit to be heard across the courtyard area. "Late, as usual."

Sveta went to respond, but shouts from behind interrupted them. She and Harry spun around. Two squad's worth of military police, betrayed by their black and white arm bands, moved towards them. She glanced at Harry in confusion. Dick and Nixon came up to them.

"Hands up, Captain Samsonova."

What? Sveta froze. Her body didn't respond as she watched them raise their guns. Time seemed to slow. She looked from the MP armbands to the black gun barrels that stared at her.

"What is going on?" Harry demanded.

At the same time, Dick stepped forward, echoing him. "Put the guns down, Sergeant!"

Sveta could feel the eyes on her. All of them. Every single one, Easy's enlisted, the blonde war correspondent on the far side of the compound, the helmeted MPs guarding the exists. She could feel Nixon and Zhanna just beyond Dick, and Harry to her right. And she could feel the anger in the eyes of the men with their guns trained on her head.

"Hands up!" The Sergeant in charge barked the order again. "Now!"

"Sergeant!" Dick demanded.

He glanced right. "Major, these orders are direct from Colonel Sink. I can't stand down." Then he turned back to her, stepping forward. "Put your hands up, Samsonova. We won't ask again."

"What am I charged with," she snapped. Sveta felt her body trembling. Anger coursed through her. Sveta stepped forward.

"Don't move!" The man screamed it, moving closer to her. His vitriol stopped her in her tracks and Sveta put her hands up. "Captain Samsonova has been charged with conspiracy to commit espionage." He glanced at Dick. "She's been implicated in the assassination of a British colonel by the Gestapo."

Silence. Sveta couldn't find her voice, even as Harry stepped away from her. No one spoke. She could only hear the heaving breaths coming from her own lungs. As she felt her hands grow cold, Sveta managed to look to the left. But Dick had stopped his protests, too. And beyond him, Zhanna moved back to hide in his shadow.

Anger filled her entire body. Silence. That's what two years and endless battles side by side had earned her. Sveta all but barred her teeth, spinning back to the Sergeant.

"I've done no such thing," she spat. "How dare you."

"Stay where you are."

Sveta balled her fists.

"You are to be placed in confinement until a trial can be convened. If found guilty, you could be subject to execution."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move.

"Colonel Sink is considering contacting Stalin, to see if he would like to process your trial instead. It may be possible to send you back to Russia."

No. No, no. Sveta's arms fell to her side, heavy from the pain of holding them above her head and losing track of what else was said. She couldn't go back. She couldn't go back disgraced. She couldn't speak.

If she went back a traitor, she would die a traitor. Or Beria would get his puppet. Fighting the painful grip on her throat, Sveta turned to Zhanna. She pleaded with her in Russian. "Zhanna—"

Pain exploded across her cheek. She stumbled, grasping at her face with a shout. Sveta looked at her hand. She tried to focus. She had to focus. Blood from her temple stained her fingers.

This was it.

This was how she died.

Sveta didn't even notice how they got her into the room in the basement of Regimental HQ. She didn't remember how they'd gotten the handcuffs around her wrists. She didn't remember who had stripped them away as they locked the door.

She did remember the pain. She remembered the way her wrists ached as they had at thirteen in Rostov-on-Doc. She remembered the way the blood stained her hands as it had at eighteen in Stalingrad.

As she stood in the room turned cell, she stared at the wall. No windows. One door. One bed. One wastebasket. Her heart pounded, mind reeling as she stumbled a bit towards the bed. She couldn't think straight.

Someone had framed her. Someone had set her up to take the fall. Someone had wanted her dead, or in Russia. Sveta turned towards the door. Her heart stopped.

In the corner of the room, dried up but still recognizable, were rose petals.

Sveta threw up.